


Pygmalion

by SmileDesu



Category: Young Avengers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Greek Mythology - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 22:53:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmileDesu/pseuds/SmileDesu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All alone in the world, a young witch becomes just desperate enough to create himself some company, never once dreaming that was how he'd fall in love</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pygmalion

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, morphia, for being my beta ♥

Once upon a time, there was a witch. The witch inherited great power and knowledge from his mother, and was brought up to use it selflessly, for the sake of others. To spread good and maintain the balance of the world they lived in, for wicked witches were tales to scare children with, not a reality.  
The young witch strove to live by his mother's teachings, even when the villagers chased her away, demanding justice for something he couldn't believe was really her fault. He was left behind, but not alone - as short-lived a dream as that was.  
His brother, unlike him, was neither as kind nor as patient as he was. He could not forgive the villagers for how they treated their mother, nor was he obliged to assist them as he lacked his brother's gifts. Packing what few belongings he had, the older sibling - the older twin - up and left, leaving his brother on his own.  
With none but himself in their house and not a soul in the village to socialize with, the witch was alone.  
  
For a while he managed, keeping busy with his studies and chores, performing daily rituals and visiting the woods. But the animals he met were more for food and materials than company, and the few scarce words he exchanged when one villager or another approached him - always in need of his services - simply weren't enough. At the end of each day he returned to a cold, dark, empty house that hardly felt like a 'home' anymore. More so than simply 'alone', the witch was _lonely_ , and with each passing day it weighed him down more heavily. He was growing sick of doing even the things he used to like, lost his appetite, and more and more frequently gave in to temper tantrums and mood swings. Finally he understood his brother's bitterness and anger, and knew that if things remained as they were, it was but a matter of time before he betrayed his mother's teachings and did something he could never undo nor atone for.  
  
Then one day things did change, in quite the unexpected way. Going over his mother's books, he came across one he never read before. It belonged to his mother's own teacher, the words inside testified, and housed powerful spells the likes of which he had never seen before. There were spells to call forth both miracles and calamities, to ensnare hearts and unleash one's true potential. Spells and Magicks for angels and demons alike. With that book, he could make the villagers pay. He could remake his small world to his liking and never again lack anything. It was all there, heavy and leather-bound in his hands. And yet-  
And yet he found himself flipping yet another page. He _could_ do all that, yes, but the bitter, cold emptiness that crept inside him at the mere thought, the fear that gripped him at even considering it were more than he could bear.  
No, he decided. He was not yet desperate enough to give up on his soul.  
  
The next page offered something different. It was a spell unlike the others, not to destroy or control, not to bend - but to _create_. Before his eyes, carefully inscribed onto the page was a recipe, a detailed explanation of how one was to create, for lack of a better term, a human being.  
This was it. If he succeeded, if he cast this spell properly, he would have someone waiting for him, someone to talk to, to spend time with. He'd have company - he wouldn't be alone anymore.  
Yes, it was crazy, came at great risks and went against so much of what he believed in, but by then he was beyond caring about such things.  
Nothing was worse than the loneliness, of this he was certain.  
  
–  
  
He failed. Maybe he miscast the spell, or it backfired, or the ingredients weren't pure, or- he didn't know, nor could he care about so many 'maybe's. He only knew _something_ went wrong because as soon as he finished the incantation the candles burned too brightly, the flames building up until they exploded, filling the room. The last thing he remembered before reality faded away was reaching for his creation, this vessel he meticulously put together. This lifeless, faceless doll he poured all his hopes, dreams and longing into.  
He never managed to close the distance.  
  
When he came to, not a flicker of flame remained. The magical circle on the floor was ruined, and the room seemed ready to collapse in on itself, as though held up only thanks to the smoke filling it.  
He had no attention to spare for any of that.  
There he was, lying on the floor, yet he wasn't cold or uncomfortable, instead feeling warm - sheltered, even. For there was another with him, a young man with piercing blue eyes and soft blond hair, wearing not a scrap of cloth over his built body as befitting a newly-born. He cradled the witch in his arms as one would their beloved, and the look of grief and agony that twisted the handsome features broke into joy and delight when he realized the witch opened his eyes. No sound left him when he tightened his hold, pulling the witch closer against himself.  
His maker stared, awed and all but enchanted by this magnificent creature. More than anything he was taken by his smile, so innocent and pure and true - and meant for none but him. Ah, it's been so long since someone - anyone - smiled at him, and longer still since anyone smiled _for_ him... The meaning behind the tears that fell on their own was beyond his companion, but the witch moved just the same, wrapping his arms around the other's shoulder. He shuddered, happiness he had almost forgotten filling him when the embrace was returned.  
Finally - _finally_ \- he wouldn't be alone anymore.  
  
–  
  
Creating his familiar was the easy part. There was much work to be done after that, but the witch didn't falter, instead accepting his newfound duties and responsibilities towards his charge with gratitude. He kept him warm, clean, clothed and fed. He taught him words and their meaning, reading and writing, and the ways of both man and beast. He gave him a name, and offered his own for the other to use as he pleased. Each lesson was learned as eagerly as it was taught, with the creature always looking at his maker with adoration and devotion. He rarely stepped away from the witch's side, and worked earnestly to earn his approval. The witch often wondered if he hadn't, by chance, bestowed upon the precious thing his own loneliness, but decided it was best not to dwell on such thoughts. What difference did it make, after all? He had as little intention of leaving as his companion did.  
  
Days passed in tranquility, and the days piled into weeks and then months. The two were happy together, each tending to the other's needs even before their own and finding satisfaction in the other's smile and small shows of gratitude. They needed nothing more than each other's company, and to the witch there was no greater joy than waking up to find someone by his side. It was bliss, he thought. Yet again happiness proved to be but a transient illusion, and it was hardly long enough before he had to face the true nature of his feelings towards his own creation.  
  
It was a cold night during winter, their first as the familiar was created with the coming of spring. He was left to tend to the fireplace while the witch fetched books from his study. Outside snow and winds hit the walls and windows but inside they were safe - or so the witch thought.  
Everything fell from his hands at the sound that reached him, one he had never heard before, not in that voice - a pained cry. He rushed to the other room, eyes darting back and forth. The table was set for their supper and the door was barred, but that was but one side of the room. The other had flaming coals spilling from the fireplace onto the carpet, and his companion crouched dangerously close - and was in pain. One spell quickly put the fire out and another provided them with the light needed to examine the damages. His hands and arms were burned, the result of him trying to put the coals back bare-handed. Even the gentlest of touches made him wince and edge away, and every pained sound that left him made something sink deeper in the witch's chest, leaving behind a numbing chill. He forced the feeling aside, concentrating instead on the healing enchantment. It was an easy task, easier than healing normal people, but even with that out of the way the witch refused to let go of the other's hands. They sat on the floor in the spelled lights' glow with the cold creeping in, yet still the creature knew that wasn't why his maker was shivering. There was another reason, there had to be, to explain also why he held on quite so tightly. Yet as soon as he opened his mouth to speak, to ask-  
  
"Never do that again!"  
  
The words, urgent and harsh, filled the room, rising above the sound of the wind outside. The witch refused to meet his eyes while he held on more tightly still, enough for the touch to be uncomfortable.  
  
"You have to be more careful!"  
  
The familiar nodded silently, shoulders hunched. He had erred and upset his maker, of course he deserved such words, he thought, yet what came next confused him. The witch leaned forward, practically falling against him until his forehead pressed against the other's shoulder. It was then the shivers became a trembling, making the creature fill with worry. And then, on top of it all, were the words-  
  
"What am I to do if anything happened to you?"  
  
He had no answer, as from the day he was born never were they apart. He thus kept to his silence and stillness, letting the witch rest against him until he had calmed down. But as to whether or not he was _better_ \- he was not to discover for a while longer.  
  
–  
  
That incident was but the start of something rather unpleasant. Taking to heart the witch's distressed requests, his familiar took care in everything he did, wishing to never again see the witch be in so much pain. However, no matter what he did, how hard he tried, the witch would not smile at him like he had before. His voice was smooth yet distant, hiding emotions he used to openly convey. And the look in his eyes, those chocolate-hued eyes his companion loved so were cold and unreadable. No matter what he did, he could not appease the witch, could not heal or even understand what ailed him. There was a chilly gap where once there was only warmth and closeness, teaching the familiar for the first time the true meaning of 'sadness'.  
It was unbearable already and only got worse with every silence, every averted glance, every small act of rejection. It hurt as much as had he been torn apart, yet even though his form was intact, the tears fell just the same.  
  
"What should I do?"  
The question broke the last silence he could bear, shattering the thin illusion of yet another civil supper. The witch stopped eating yet would still not look up. It was for the better - had the creature met another hollow look, he would've shattered for sure.  
  
"You've been unhappy for some time now, but no matter what I do or say, you won't cheer up. You won't even tell me what troubles you. I- there's nothing I can do for you like this!"  
His fists clenched. A frustrated frown rose to his face, twisting it. The witch looked up finally, brows furrowed in worry and constraint. He looked away before eye contact was made.  
  
"William, I am only here for you." He spoke again, voice softer now, almost pleading. He reached out over the table, palms upwards.  
"It was your voice I heard first, your side I was by all this time. Your laughter and smile that are important to me, no one else's. Without you, this world means nothing to me."  
  
The silverware was put down. Shivering hands rested on the table, fists clenched and still out of the other's reach. It only encouraged him - he was that far off the edge of despair.  
"Please, William, you know I'd do anything for you, become anything you need me to be. What is it that will make you happy again? What is it you _wish_ for? Please tell me."  
  
"My _wish_..." The witch repeated, a breathless pant. He pushed himself to his feet, his every move followed by the other's gaze, those yet-untainted, pure eyes. He reached for his companion's face, the smallest of frowns crossing his face at the way his companion leaned into the touch, craving contact and warmth, this gentle touch even with such desperation. What he wished for...  
  
"My wish..."  
  
The other's skin was smoother than any human's yet just as warm - warmer. His breath - life - trickled over the witch's wrist.  
  
~ _I wish you were real~_ yet what was he if not that, as sure as his pleading voice still rang in the witch's ears, as his warmth seeped into his skin. He was real, for the witch made and named him.  
  
~ _I wish_ this _was real_ ~ yet the mere thought made his chest tighten and ache. He recalled every day they spent together from dawn to dusk and after. He knew this precious existence he called forth was beyond lie and deceit. Most importantly he knew - such intense pain the kind of which he harbored could not come from a mere illusion.  
  
~ _I wish I could stop loving you_ ~ It was cold and empty and made his stomach turn to knots, nausea over-taking him. No, that was the last thing he wanted. Being together had brought him so much joy, this precious boy he made filled the emptiness in his life. He didn't want to give any of that up, neither glee nor agony - death would be better.  
  
What was it that he wished for then, he wondered, yet there was no doubt in his mind as he cupped the other's cheeks with both his hands. _This_ is all he ever wanted, all he could ever have hoped for. The only thing bothering him was...  
  
"William?" He asked, concerned by the silence.  
  
"I wish--" The witch replied yet never finished the sentence.  
  
~ _I wish I could forget having made you_ ~  
  
So desperate and heartfelt a wish it was it became a reality. The truth of the matter cleared out of his mind, leaving the witch confused and lightheaded. He found himself in the other's arms, the both of them on their feet by the table. He felt light, free, and so, as endearing as the other's shows of concern were he paid them no mind. An unfocused smile on his lips, the witch closed the distance. Pressing together, lips meshed together, the two embraced as they shared a kiss - the first of many, without the witch ever understanding why he waited as long as he did.  
  
It was the last time he questioned his happiness, instead embracing it with every fiber of his being.  
  
–  
  
It was a happiness made to last, filling every day they shared together and blanketing the nights. The seasons changed, the years passed, yet it was as though time itself spared the couple and the small home they shared. Oblivious to the world, away from prying eyes, laughter and warmth filled their lives, spans that far surpassed mere mortal humans'. The witch's powers turned his life-span into several, letting him bear witness to more than an age, with his companion by his side. There came a time when he sought to travel, leaving behind a place he was to return to, confident it was time to see the world, with his companion besides him. He survived a war, watched one kingdom rise and another fall, called forth a miracle and watched disaster take its toll, with his companion nearby - never alone. Never alone.  
  
Finally the time came and he returned home. There were no familiar faces to greet him, as all he knew in the village had long since passed on. The scenery itself changed, the forest retreating in places and expanding in others, with even the river having changed its course. Yet still there it was, their own abode waiting for them. Time had left much weary and unstable, yet it was not quickly fixed despite it being but a trifle. It was not a lack of ability, rather a matter of reflection, the witch thought as he looked himself in the old mirror hanging in a rather crooked way. His hair had grown out, his beard granting him a visage of wisdom he likely lacked. His shoulders were broader than what could be reflected, wider than they were before, and there was stubbornness to his posture as befitting one who even for all his powers lived long and saw enough to have white adorn his hair.  
And his companion, with the bright smile and the spark in his eyes, aged not a single day. Yet again, never once did the witch question that which brought him joy - not that that long ago day of old.  
  
"We're home."  
  
–  
  
It was in that home they spent the rest of their days together. The villagers offered business, the forest - produce and pastime. The simple life once abandoned teemed with simple pleasures, infinite certainties and the precious surprises that could not be found on the road. It was comfortable, the witch thought, and gave grave for where his life had led him.  
His companion was grateful for him.  
That gratitude lasted them for many years to come, when the witch's name became but a myth, a forgotten legend, and his powers waned along with his fame. It was in his own bed he laid in his final hours, and was much like in his life up to that point - warm, comfortable, loved. He turned his wrinkled face towards his precious boy by his side, as beautiful and radiant as ever before. A smile was waiting for him, never once faltering.  
  
"We've led a good life together."  
  
"Yes," he replied and gently took hold of the old witch's hand, carefully clasping it between his own. A tired smile was his reward, followed by the one thing he didn't expect - an apology.  
  
"I don't remember the day we met." The witch whispered, regret in his eyes. His companion, smiling still, simply shook his head.  
  
"That's alright - I do."  
  
"You always remembered things better." The elder replied, his words then giving way to a deep, dry cough. He laid limp afterward, eyes staring at the ceiling he knew since he was but a boy.  
  
"What would you do with me gone?" He asked, the question but a breath, no more. He turned to his boy again, this time with sadness in his eyes. And again there was that smile, and an excitement he hadn't seen in a while shining in the blue eyes.  
  
"I'll follow."  
  
The witch closed his eyes and turned away.  
"You have never lied to me before. Please don't start now."  
  
"I'm not lying." He insisted and moved over the bed, pressing against the fragile body and holding him close. "This world means nothing to me if you're not in it. Therefore, I absolutely will follow close behind you."  
  
"If it is a lie..."  
  
"I will not let you find out." He promised and kissed the witch's forehead. The witch closed his eyes, body growing limp on the mattress.  
  
"I think... I'll rest now. I'm tired..."  
  
"I will be here with you. At least until you fall asleep." He said and kissed the witch again for the last time.  
  
Time passed. Finally the villagers entered the house, curious about the witch's fate. They found him in his bed, a smile on his lips, resting next to the pile of dust and earth that once was his beloved, a piece of his very own soul.


End file.
